LITMIR.BIZ

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changed.’

      ‘That’s not true at all,’ said one of the Damned.

      Dressed in the curry-stained baby-blue bathrobe he had died in, the man had a scraggly, hobo-like beard and was clearly very drunk. He slurred almost every word.

      ‘We are disappearing,’ the man continued, draining his glass. ‘Almost every day I hear of someone that’s lost a friend and never seen them again. I’m missing a few myself.’

      The man pointed to the empty seat beside him and belched before attempting to speak again. The patrons nearest to him pulled the man away from the bar and out of the tavern before he could utter another word. The red Demon’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Damned drag their inebriated companion away.

      ‘Remind me why we come here, Nicor,’ he growled.

      ‘It’s close to home,’ the grey Demon told his friend, ‘easier to stumble back from when we’re done for the day. The ale is not half bad either.’

      ‘It seems like they’ll let anyone in though. Let’s find a tavern where these Mortals are either banned or know their bloody place.’

      Humans were second class citizens in Perdition and, much like the elderly, they were expected to be seen and not heard. Mortals were Hell’s currency in the Game of Souls and claiming them was Lucifer’s top priority but once they were dead and Damned they became little more than background noise and a nuisance as far as the Demons were concerned.

      Most of the Damned were content with the arrangement. After discovering Hell was filled with brothels and bars rather than fire and brimstone, being ignored or treated like dirt by the Demons seemed a small price to pay. In truth Hell would have been very much like their worst nightmares had Lucifer not seen realm-wide eternal torture as merely a waste of his Demons’ time. Never-ending torment was labour intensive and Lucifer saved that punishment for a special few: the Damned that had killed thousands of their fellow men and women before their descent. Their actions had echoed across history and they had deprived Lucifer forever of the chance to claim those innocent souls caught up in their wars and schemes. For that transgression they suffered far worse a fate than anything a Mortal mind could envisage.

      Aside from the constant and still unexplained disappearances of the Damned very little had actually changed in Perdition. Immortal lives of sin and depravity had continued unhindered and most Mortals found new friends to replace the ones that had gone missing without a trace. Rumours and theories about Hell’s “next move” persisted but with each day that passed the rank and file grew more confident that whatever was going to happen didn’t involve them. Demon and Damned alike wanted to see Perdition win the Game of the Souls but no one wanted the duty of making it happen to fall on their shoulders. The lesson learnt from Damon’s demise was still fresh in their minds; with great responsibility came the chance for great punishment in service to the Light Bearer.

      The sprawling city was comprised almost entirely of small stone buildings, surrounded on all sides by an endless sea of black sand. Soul Reaper tower however could be seen from anywhere in the realm; it almost touched the majestic burning sky that gave Perdition its heat and light. It was the workplace of the Fallen; the first of the Angels to turn to Lucifer’s cause during the Rift. Inside the immense marble structure, Hell’s highest ranking officials were about to learn they had no such hope of shirking responsibility. Perdition’s Board of Directors and most important employees worked ceaselessly within the Tower to bring Lucifer’s vision to life. While most of them toiled to keep his vast city running and made plans to claim the immortal souls of specific men, women and children, a select few had been ordered to attend a secret meeting. It would be their job to set the stage for the main event.

      In his favourite black handmade suit, Mastema, Tempter of Men and Cursed Accuser, arrived at the meeting twenty minutes late; as was his custom. Making sure his jet-black hair was perfectly in place the suave Demon Lord shoved the massive doors open and strode into the boardroom. The glorious and fearsome sight of the Light Bearer and Son of Morning sitting atop his throne at the head of the blackened oak table caused him to misstep slightly. A colossus of white gold and black wings, the sight of Lucifer never failed to inspire and strike fear in equal measure.

      ‘You think it wise to make me wait?’ asked Lucifer as Mastema took a place at the table.

      Although his voice sounded like a whisper it carried clearly to every corner of the room. The contrast of the soft honeyed words coming from the Light Bearer’s massive frame always unnerved even the most fearsome of the Lords. Lucifer’s raven-dark wings flared briefly and his violet eyes held Mastema’s black in a death grip.

      ‘My sincerest apologies, Master,’ replied the Tempter of Men, bowing before taking his seat. ‘With my new duties and the differences in time zones I made a mistake and it shall not happen again.’

      ‘My knowledge of the Mortal realm is somewhat limited,’ admitted Lucifer. ‘But I am sure that time zone changes are measured in hours.’

      ‘For the most part, my Master, you are correct. Some however are in half-hour increments which in fact makes me ten minutes early for this meeting in Kabul.’

      ‘We are not in Kabul,’ shouted Abaddon, King of Demons, Voice of Lucifer and Chairman of the Board.

      In his blood-red robe with gold trim he stood at Lucifer’s right hand, well and truly sick of Mastema’s blatant disregard for protocol. In the centuries since the Board had been formed Mastema had almost never been on time for a meeting, forcing his fellow Lords to wait. The only exceptions had been when he knew the Light Bearer would be in attendance and even then he had cut it perilously close. Mastema had finally slipped and Abaddon almost frothed at the mouth as he prepared to take full advantage of the rare mistake.

      Lucifer raised his hand to halt the impending tirade.

      ‘I know you enjoy making the Board wait, Mastema, and I for one find it hilarious; but not when you do it to me. You are long out of my grace and the next time it happens I shall remove you from your position and imprison you for eternity in the smallest cell I can find.’

      A look of concern crept over Lucifer’s face.

      ‘And what would your poor wife do then?’ he asked. ‘Deumos is a beautiful creature and I find myself short one child. Perhaps I might be able to comfort her, to help her through the grief of her loss.’

      ‘I’m sure my wife would be honoured by your attentions.’ replied Mastema. ‘And I would not want to see her lonely and untended should I perish. I did however notice a strange burning sensation after my last tryst with her. The ointment for this is in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet if you find yourself with a similar affliction after sampling her womanly wares.’

      Abaddon’s rage grew with the grin on the Light Bearer’s face. Mastema had an uncanny ability for avoiding almost certain reprisal; one that never seemed to fail him. The King of Demons, and indeed the rest of the Board, eagerly awaited the day when his excuses and jokes were not enough to dodge punishment.

      ‘I call this meeting to order then,’ Abaddon said, once his calm had returned and it was clear no immediate punishment was forthcoming. ‘Asteroth, if you would?’

      The Treasurer of Perdition, a short, fat Demon-Lord in ink-stained robes, stood to address the Board. There were a few members missing, Mastema noted, most prominently Samael, Bringer of Death and Destruction. The room smelt better for his absence and Mastema assumed the brute would be furious at being left out of something important. He made a mental note to rub the fact in as soon as he saw him.

      ‘I will not be going over exact figures in any depth during this meeting,’ Asteroth told the Board to their unconcealed delight. ‘But I do have handouts for those who are interested. Our esteemed Master has asked for the most basic of financial rundowns, just enough to give you all some background for today’s meeting.’

      The Treasurer flicked through the parchments piled in front of him.

      ‘Our actual soul count is diminishing; funds have been leaking steadily from

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